


Forever and a Day

by will_warin



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:44:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_warin/pseuds/will_warin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Halls of Waiting, where all souls go after death. Elves forever, Dwarves for Aulë-knows-how-long and Men for …<br/>“A day.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever and a Day

**Author's Note:**

> I opened the file with this story on a train today and it needed suprisinly less editing then I though it would.
> 
> There should be more words about all that, but I've spent most of the evening crying because of _life_ , so I don't care about them anymore.

The days in Mahal’s Halls are one like the other. Slow, steady beat of moments as they are turning into days, months and years like strikes of a hammer during summer afternoon.

They wash away everything, all the pain and guilt of a life before every soul is ready to return into stone it was made from.

Some take only a little while to be free of all the wounds of their time in Middle Earth, some take what elsewhere would be months, or even years.

And in all the Ages of Arda, there have been only a few souls so haunted by their deeds that they needed decades of the steady calm of the Halls to calm away all of that.

Thorin, son of Thráin, named Oakenshield, was one of them.

#####

Bilbo sits up with a groan. Elvish care or not, his old bones always need some time in the morning to move properly. In his age, it’s a bit of a wonder he is able to still do as much.

He makes his way to the dining hall to join Frodo for breakfast, like he’s always done, even before the whole mess with his ring, The Ring and the terrible evil it contained and why even didn’t Gandalf do anything about that before? He made it clear he knew about the ring when he dropped him off in Shire after the Quest. It's always up to a Baggins to save the day,” he mutters to himself as he gets his breakfast and tea for Frodo. The poor lad is terribly pale again; the nightmares have never really left him even with all the care of thousands years of experience their hosts have with healing.

Bilbo looks at him with sympathy and adds a cookie to Frodo’s plate. He’s had plenty of nightmares himself, after the quest, after …

The air is fresh and smells of tea and breakfast and Bilbo tries to anchor himself against the memories of his days in Erebor.

It’s been nearly seventy years, but still, the cold of ice and the warmth in Thorin’s voice, the smell of death, the …

Bilbo takes another breath and concentrates on not spilling Frodo’s tea.

It’s all gone now, a long time gone.

He still wishes he had the chance to see the Mountain again, though, restored and full of life as it was supposed to be. But the pain and the regret held him for too long and then suddenly it was too late.

Bilbo hands Frodo the tea and they sit together in the sun, looking at the sea in silence.

#####

The morning is cold and quiet, but there is no pain or ache that would restrict his movement. Bilbo sits up with a start, looking around. He’s in a large hall filled with light, walls covered with tapestries.

So this is it, then. The Halls of Waiting, where all souls go after death. Elves forever, Dwarves for Aulë-knows-how-long and Men for …

“A day.” Bilbo turns after the voice, but can’t see anyone. But then, who could see a Vala?

“And then what?” He asks instead. “Where do we go then? I mean … I asked around and no one seems to know the answer.”

“Even I don’t. Only Eru is aware of all the melodies of the music of this world.”

Bilbo pauses at that.

“Really? I mean, being the Ruler of the Dead, aren’t you supposed to know such things?”

“No. You will walk into a balcony at the dusk and then you will be gone to where none can see.”

“But what am I supposed to do until that? What do people do here?”

“Wait.” Comes the answer and with that, the conversation is over.

Bilbo sighs.

“And I thought Gandalf was bad,” he says to no one in particular and takes a walk around the room.

#####

The sun still hasn’t reached its peak and he’s had enough. Enough of tapestries, he’s read all the stories anyways, enough of powerful beings speaking in riddles or not at all, enough of peaceful retirement and waiting for who-knows-what. No, he’s a Baggins of Bag End and he will get the answers for once in his life or death or …

He stops in his tracks at a full wall view of a dragon, crushing a mountain with his claw, burning another one to dust with his fire. 

_Most of the heroes are somewhere here._ He thinks. _Waiting for … whatever it is that happens after the wait is over._

Maybe there is one hero in particular that could use a word or two to help him pass the time.

Bilbo feels the midday sun in his back and smiles.

Maybe there’s still time for one more adventure.

#####

The Halls of Waiting are vast and even though they are filled with souls of the deceased, there is little talk in the solitude of their waiting. Some of them, the ones looked after by Aulë and where dwarrows spend their time before returning to stone, are filled with more commotion, but only as much as a single patch of grass is greener than a barren wasteland, but nothing in comparison with the flowering garden that is the mortal life.

Still, when Bilbo finds his way there during the afternoon, the occasional beat of a hammer or a distant echo of a conversation feels like a shade in the white hot stillness of summer heat. The light is dimmer here and the stone is rougher under his feet, but as he walks on, the halls match the elven ones in their size and beauty.

He starts to wonder if the one he’s looking for is still there, but then there is a choked gasp and when he turns around there’s …

Bilbo takes a deep breath he doesn’t need any more and looks at … Thorin. Very dead, very real and surprisingly alive looking Thorin Oakenshield, who in turn stares at him in surprise.

“Bil- Bilbo?” His voice is quiet and sounds every bit how Bilbo remembers it from the Quest. No, not from the Quest. From the battlefield. From when Thorin was holding onto the last moments of his life and the blood loss made his voice thinner with every word.

And just like that, the waves of pain and regret and all the days that never were that he poured into his book to keep them safe from his fading mind, they all come back all at once, crushing him and Bilbo uses every drop of strength he has left to just _keep standing_ and _breathe_ and _stop shaking_ from all the emotions.

It’s rage, in the end, that helps him to take a breath deep enough to let him speak and suddenly he’s standing a feet away from Thorin and stabbing the air with his finger.

“Oh, hello Thorin, nice to see you and all, but I’ve some time to think and yes, I still forgive you the thing with the stone and all, but, tell me what on earth you were thinking when after a hundred and fifty years of travelling Middle Earth you decided to charge into a battle wearing a chain bathrobe instead of you know, proper armour that would cover your chest properly, so that you don’t get stabbed and then bleed out and die and Yavanna I missed you so much, so much …”

And there he is, holding onto Thorin and hugging him tight and sobbing into his shoulder and it only then that Thorin finally realises it’s really _him_ and he’s really _there_ and he embraces him as if it could turn back time.

They stand like that for ages, or maybe just moments, time doesn’t seem to matter anymore, until Bilbo takes a step back and the silence is too loud after that.

“You’re not a dwarf.” Thorin’s voice sounds fuller somehow, more alive, and it feels like picking up pieces of a broken vase with bleeding fingertips.

“That was the point last time, remember?” Bilbo sobs and wipes his tears away with a sleeve. “That’s why Gandalf chose me to sneak up on the dragon.”

“I mean … how can you be here? In Mahal’s Halls? ”

“Oh, that. It’s a bit … I’ve got a day, here in the Halls of Waiting. Well, more like an afternoon now. Then I have to go … away. Anyways, the part for the elves and such got boring after a while, so I decided to go … for a walk. And I ended up walking into you and …” He looks around the room to avoid Thorin’s gaze.

“It’s nice here, you know. Is that how Erebor looked before the dragon came?”

“This how I remember the Mountain from my childhood. Some things looked differently while my father was still here, but the details faded out after he returned to stone. Where do hobbits go when they leave the Halls? I don’t recall you ever talking about that.”

“I didn’t want to even think about that back on the Quest, thank you very much. Must have been the excitement of the Funeral Arrangements section in the contract. “ Thorin smiles at that and Bilbo’s heart skips a beat it doesn’t have anymore.

“But honestly, don’t know. No one does, apparently. But there’s supposed to be a balcony of some sort at the dusk, so I guess it’s somewhere … not around.” He stares at an ornament on the wall, blinking rapidly.

“Well, at least this time we get to say our goodbyes without me bleeding out halfway through. “

There’s the tiniest hint of humour in Thorin’s voice and Bilbo holds to it like a lifeline.

“Without you bleeding out halfway through, _because you didn’t know how to dress for a battle properly_.”

“Of course. My mistake. Would you like me to show you around?”

#####

They walk and the walls change around them as Thorin speaks of his home once again, the pain washed away by time and distance and the knowledge that there is a King under the Mountain once more and the Mountain withstood even the attack of the Necromancer’s forces.

They talk about other things then, about things that were and the ones that weren’t and couldn’t be, and the sun on the unseen sky behind their backs moves slowly to the west.

Bilbo is retelling the great story about his victory in conkers on the year Frodo was born, when they enter a balcony over the sea and he stops mid-word.

The sun is setting in front of them, painting the water in red and gold and Bilbo takes Thorin’s hand without really thinking about it. Thorin squeezes it and then holds tight, moving to stand behind him, offering as much comfort as he can.

“Is this it then?”

“I think it is.”

“I promise not to bleed out this time.” Bilbo smiles with just an edge of tears.

“You’re still holding my hand though.”

“So I am.” Thorin turns him around, away from the sunset and takes the other one.

“Both of them, actually.”

Bilbo shakes his head, smile creeping into his face.

“Ridiculous dwarf.”

“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service.”

“Oh, are you? Because as far as I remember, you were …” The sun is setting in Thorin’s eyes and Bilbo can’t fight the tears anymore.

“… I was what exactly?” The question is so quiet he barely hears it over the waves and he could have missed it if he didn’t see Thorin’s lips move and it’s so much like the last time and it’s tearing his heart to pieces.

“A … friend.” It’s barely more than a whisper and very nearly a sob.

“A friend who held you in very high regard. And he still does. You are a very special hobbit, Bilbo Baggins from the Shire.” And for a moment, Thorin’s everything he could have been, hadn’t he...

… but there is no time for that now. There’s never enough time.

They look at each other and the sun in Thorin’s eyes is setting into the water of his tears.

They have never enough time and the sun is nearly halfway gone already.

“I would … I would follow you if I could. To wherever it is you’re going.”

“You can’t, your home’s there, your family’s here, they would miss you if you didn’t come to them in stone and …”

“They would be happy to know I’m with you.”

Bilbo shakes his head, blinking the tears away.

“Whatever is that supposed to mean?”

“I spent so long trying to get back our home that I forgot that sometimes, a home is not a place.”

“Your home is the Lonely Mountain, remember?” And it’s Bilbo’s sob that finally sends Thorin’s tears running down his face.

“My kin’s home is the Lonely Mountain. My home is Bilbo Baggins.”

“Thorin, please …”

“Farewell.”

The last thing Bilbo feels is a soft kiss on his forehead.

Then the sun sets and Thorin is standing on the balcony alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise this is the last time I bring up Thorin's armour not covering his chest in the movie now I've seen the behind the scenes and know why it was so.


End file.
